Bounty of Flame
Ren Pyro Morto, hastily walked down the streets of Castillion at a brisk pace. He covered his face, with his cloak, making sure others did not catch the distinctive red plume of hair that seemed to always fall over his
eyes and face. Pyro always loved his long hair, and even now he formed a puff of air with his mouth and blew a strand from his eyes. He then brought the hood of his cloak down about his face, closing the flap so none could see him. It was a brisk Crygust night; the sixth month of year was always thus. The people of Chalice called Crygust a Herald month due to the fact it was at this month the seasons changed from spring to summer.
Pyro could tell that summer was on the way, even as Surter the sun began it's long chariot ride west, and following it would be dusk and later night when Anuiver's star shone brightly and the stars of Io's belt could be seen.
Ren loved the night, and often he had sat upon many of the six story homes that jutted about killman's warf. It was here he would gaze at the shooting stars, actually asteroids that made up Io's belt, and as always on a clear light Anuiver's moon gleamed brightly.
Now though Ren Pyro had no time to look at the stars and allow his elf-blood to warm at the sight of them. Now he had to flee the city he loved so much.
Pyro came about a small alley and continued on his way. Soon he would be where most of the merchant gondolas made rest, and would then take a one to the northern part of the city known as Merchants Thorn.
It was here merchants and sneak thieves could go about there business without the watchful eye of the law, which in Castillion were known as the Purple Plumes. The Plumes were notorious for ruining the thieves quick schemes, or fence Jobs.
Pyro on many occasions had run into their captain, an uncouth man named Pierth Asgadom. Luckily for Ren he had fools luck, and had never been taken in by the cruel warden and his hated Purple Plumes.
Even now as he hit Johan's intersection he saw several of the Plumes riding by, displaying the plumage of some southern bird. About their chest was a tabard of purple and roses, which marked them sheriffs of the city.
Pyro quickly darted back in to the cover of the slightly lit ally and watched Castillion's sheriff's ride by. He rubbed up against the walls and became deathly still; one would think he was made of the very stuff of shadow.
He peeked out and watched as the horses, and riders turned smaller and smaller as they rode down the street. Ren let out a sigh and air escaped upwards lifting his red hair.
He gazed at the papered signs that held both he and his good friends face upon them. He sneered at them in disgust. They were warrants issued out for he and his long time Ranger ally Spirit Hawkfellow.
What disgusted Pyro even more was the bounty.
Only 10 gold Soverigens?
He mused to himself surely he would be worth more; he thought. Then again, obviously Pierth was a cheap man.
What also caught his ire were the large words of murderer upon them. He and Spirit had fought fair and uncontested battle against, his former Guild, and had killed the leader Morick and his own brother Frost; yet now they had been wanted for murder, when it should have been Morick who should have been deemed the aggressor. Now Ren Pyro was on the run, and Spirit had to be told he had a bounty on his head.
Ren quickly ran across the street, and decided that quickness was more important than stealth, and mostly likely the Plumes would send their Death Scenters after him.
A Death Scenter was an odd looking creature that resembled something between a rodent and a cat. It had cat like eyes with long sensory feeling whiskers, and small rat like ears, which twitched this way and that. Its body was of the rodent except for the tail, that was very hairy and un-rat like. What made a Death Scenter a great tracker was its power of smell, which could track a person through the scent of death that lingered upon them.
A day before Ren had had to deal with one, slitting it across the throat, and knocking out the guard that followed after it.
Pyro wondered what would be next; hopefully not a War Enchanter.
Ren Pyro was no slouch in casting spells and enchantment. Being Elf-blooded and gifted with the skill, He often thought he was blessed by the Imortalis for his sorcerer blood. Unlike a regular wizard or mage, Ren Pyro was magic unto itself, able to cast spells without the use of study or remembrance. He smiled, as he thought about the story he had heard in an inn once; it was a story by a human bard known as Angerdazler, who was a well known elf-friend and adventurer.
It was said that when there was no more clay to craft the races of Chalice, the Imortalis, the very gods used, some of the sap of Ysgadal the very essence of magic into the clay, and from that Sorcerers came forth.
Ren had shook his head at that and smiled, blessed by the gods indeed, he hoped as he commandeered a boat and a way out of the city.
The door opened, and Pierth Asgadom walked through the regal chambers he saw before him. He gazed at the plush burgundy carpet and noted their worth, Coradani in nature from the south west, and very expensive. His gray eyes fell upon the large center table, his eyes opened widely; Oek wood, the very wood of Floral'lanthus and if mixed with the elf ore sliveral a strong material like iron or steel.
He stepped fully now and walked to the table. He was used to hearing his spurs upon the ground and this plush carpet obscured that, it was better suited to thieves and cut throats he noted. As he neared the table he reached for a large platter of fruits and vegetables that sat there.
His mailed gauntlet fell upon the golden orange that came forth from the Buccaneers Archipelago far to the south west upon the Oceanus seas. He had heard rumor of the isles. It was known as a savage place where men sharpened their teeth to resemble the very sharks that swam their hot and waters.
Pierth peeled the skin and sniffed, his long catlike mustache
lightly playing against the fruit. He bit down and the juices flowed, some sliding from the side of his mouth, He pulled his hand across, and thought of the sweet juices that he had sampled; very good.
"I believe it's customary for one to wait for his host Captain Asgadom, before one eats." A playful voice came forth. A tall man entered the room door from the right side. The captain barely had time to pull his rapier from his side.
Pierth almost gagged, when he noted the man. This man was tall slender Elf like, powerfully built. His Dark black eyes relayed power, as did his confident stance
That told the constable, this was not a man to be trifled with. Black hair flowed down to the man's waist, and upon his chin he bore the shadow of slight stubble.
The man wore a simple sleeveless shirt, and tight riding pants that were tucked into knee high boots. Pierth caught the glisten of gold that gleamed about the man's wrist and arms.
"You should be dead." Pierth swallowed hard as the man sat.
"I should be but I'm not. This would not be the first time I survived to live another day Captain Pierth. A fact you should take note of." The man laughed.
"So Morick the quick blade is indeed alive, when you really should be dead. You thieves never cease to amaze me with your resourcefulness." Pierth bit into his orange.
"I would have waited for a living man, but for a dead man why should I." The captain finished his orange.
"Please Captain Asgadom have a seat so we can begin, we have much speak of." Morick raised a hand, and a goblet sprang across the table a large pitcher of liquid poured into the goblet and sped to Morick's hand.
He drank deep the cool Sempress Crystal wine of the elves and watched the captain.
Morick noted that Pierth Asgadom was nothing special, and probably had gained his position by pure dumb luck, not skill like most men.
Morick had known men like this all his life. They craved and wished for power, but did nothing to secure it. In battle the captain was not a man you wanted at your back. Morick had lived a long time, much longer than captain that sat before him; Morick knew how to handle this man.
"So captain how does the chase go?" Morick smirked as he sipped more of his Sempress wine.
"The chase as you say continues. Your little mouse has proven most cunning and wryly. It seems he knows this city just as well as you do." Asgadom replied leaning back unto the plush couch.
"Ren Pyro Morto, will be caught soon for your murder." Pierth laughed.
"I see, and what will happen to him when he is caught?" Morick slyly replied. Pierth smiled at the thought, as he rolled a grape about his fingers, and plopped it into his mouth.
"What we do to all murderers, they hang at the gibbet, as they should. But in this case he might not warrant it."
Morick's eyes squinted, and Pierth took note. He had over stepped his bounds. Morick simply sipped his glass of crystal wine.
"Warrant it he does, my dear constable, and he shall pay the price for his treachery. He has cost me considerable wealth and loss of prestige, and he attempted to take my life. I think the tally has not been paid up, not yet'¦ not ever." Morick gracefully stood up, and headed to the right of the room where the several curtain were drawn.
"We will rectify that situation though. I have people ready. For I now where he goes, all I ask is that I have a opportunity to strike first my good captain." Morick said slyly. Pierth took it in as he finished his fourth grape, and smoothed out his long mustache, of the grape juice. The Pierth's involvement was limited, really he had a few run in with the pest, known as Ren Pyro, but the run in that had occurred had never run the gambit of murder.
Frankly this was really a conflict between two thieving curs, and why risk his own neck over that, Pierth thought and made his decision.
"Agreed you may have your chance, but should you fail we will have ours. Is it agreed?" Pierth stretched out his hand. Morick seeing he had what he wanted returned the grasp, and opened the curtain fully.
Pierth eyes widened for the second time this meeting, as a graceful tall elf walked through into the chamber.
The person was a woman most beautiful; A Narasdien elf for sure.
The elf woman had smooth skin as fine as any silk. No blemishes or marks marred her features. A fountain of jet black hair flowed down from the crown of her head to fall across her rounded armored shoulders. It was her eyes that took him; frost blue, ringed with the illumination of the candles of the room; it was as if he was on a field gazing up into the sky and watching clouds. She moved with an easy gait, graceful and at ease, about her waist, he could see several pouches and daggers. To her left side was a beautiful ornate short-sword.
Pierth knew a few things about Florian elves and he knew that they never carried any weapon that consisted of cold iron. Most elven weapons consisted of Oek wood and or the rare material known as Sliveral, an elf crafted steel.
Pierth made no illusions about this tall slender elf, with deep penetrating eyes. She was a killer, and eye told him this. It was the look of coldness that came forth.
"This is my companion the Arelith." Morick smiled evilly.
"She will be the hand that deals out my justice. All I ask my good captain is you let her do her job." Morick walked over to his throne and sipped the light Sempress crystal wine. He rolled the liquid about the glass and gazed at the movement. Soon, very soon he would have the head of Ren Pyro Morto, and then he would finish what he started when he knew that the heart of the ranger Spirit Hawkfellow beat no longer.
He gazed at the Arelith, and grinned.
"Go my hand of death, by your hand bring me my vengeance." even before his last word was down, and Pierth turned to leave she was gone.
Ren stepped out of the gondola, and passed the boatman a gold sovereign for his troubles. He strode down Thorny way, which would lead to the inn he would meet his contact. He had been a customer of the Laughing wench many times and enjoyed the many brewed ales and beers, Havester Shilot supplied. He moved with his elven blooded grace, as quickly as he could. Ren knew if he was caught it would be over. Murder was often returned with the order of the gallows, and he was not one for having his head swing on the gallows.
He saw the sign of the Laughing Wench, in the distance and walked briskly to the inn, he smiled at the sight of the sign, and the shape of the woman carved to be in mid dance hoisting a flagon of some brew in her right and a large platter in her left. Often he would call this home.
Havester was a good man, and he had gotten to know the man for the last seven years, since he dwelled in Castillion. Seven years, Ren Pyro shock his long locks of red hair and opened the door to the smell of roasting boar meat and the sweat smell of mead, ale and a sorted foods.
Ren's eyes scanned the room, it was Crygust and not yet the on coming of summer, the inn's hearth was a flame. His eye fell upon the patrons, oddly a shiver flowed up his back, something was wrong.
The atmosphere was wrong.
On the air there was thick ill boding that Ren picked up instantly on. As he walked into the inn his eyes scanned the room and noted many men gaze under their cloak menacingly. Ren played it off as if this was his usual visit, but secretly his hand fell to the short sword he had tucked underneath his own cloak. He walked over to counter, were he saw Havester. Ren knew something was wrong immediately. He could see his old friend was tense. Sweat rolled down the man's large jowls; that was a sure sign if Ren knew one. He had known Havester to long, to not note the change in the man's behavior. He didn't even offer their customers greeting of Swords held high.
"What will it be young master?" Havester stammered. The inn keeper eyes signaled it for sure, as they darted back left to right. Ren took the cues and smiled,
"A flagon of your best ale, to the back table, my good sir." His eyes fell to the table he was supposed to meet his guide. He saw man garbed in a large purple cloak. Ren's eyes sized up the man. He wasn't tall, but his body size even draped over with his purple cloak showed through. He held weapons. The man was obvious a weapon master of some sort.
Ren hoped This man could get him out of the city with speed. He had a bad feeling there would be blood spilled this day. He could feel a dozen eyes watching him as he walked to the table.
"My good man, you sit in a table reserved for only those of the company of the hawk." Ren said, then blew a lock of hair from his face. The man head lifted up and the scent of brier wood wafted through from the man's eagle shaped smoking pipe. The man smiled, "Aye my good man and only a good fellow of the hawk can say thus." Ren's eyes opened wide, he had returned the secret code. The man pulled back his hood, and Ren's mouth dropped.
"Rifanus!" he exclaimed loudly. The man named Rifanus waved him to sit down. Ren sat down just as Havaester came by and slid the flagon of ale down on the table. Ren looked up and slid the innkeeper eight coppers, and received a paper. Ren just gazed incredulously as he watched his old friend. The bald headed elf blood grinned. He flipped the left eye patch from his left to his right like he usually was want to do, and he motioned to the paper. Ren gazed at the paper, and sighed, trouble. "Just like old times, huh Xavier. Rifanus shrugged. "When isn't it like old times? I knew we had trouble when I walked in here."
Xavier Rifanus, hand came down to side. Ren felt safer with his old friend by his side. They had gone through many adventures together, and forged a lasting friendship over the years. Seven years prior that had journeyed as companions along with the ranger Spirit Hawkfellow and elf prince Valkier. They had braved many perils, and defeated many evils along the ways. But it had been seven years since he had last seen his good friend Rifanus.
Ren heard the sound of the chairs first, and he knew what was to come a split second later. Rifanus flipped eye patched to his left. "So how are your sisters?" Ren asked as he heard the sound of several swords slide out of their scabbards. Rifanus saw the man, and readied as he lifted his flagon of ale to his lips pretending to drink but in essence was casting the spell that would protect him against sword cuts. Ren felt the hackles of his back rise, as he heard the boots head his way.
He ducked an instant later as a sword swished about his head, and his chair fell backward.
The Dancing Wench exploded into action.
Men rose from their seats, swords at the ready and seeking Ren and Xavier Rifanus's blood and life.
The duo had other thoughts instead.
Rifanus struck the first man, the mighty flagon cracking against the man's face. It sent the man sprawling to the floor in a heap.
Ren rolled to his right from the floor as a large figure, come forward, bristling with chain mail. Ren knew this man his name was Haveth, he was a sneak pick, and pocket picker of the best kind.
Was a pocket picker of the best type, until Ren Pyro steel cut through the man belly.
A Night Dagger; they were in trouble. He dodged to the side as another dagger came in dirk in hand with short sword. The man weapon lurched, slashing right then left ending the move with the short sword, Ren was a better swords man. He parried right left combination and with one quick movement a slender tube came to hand and his voice boomed. "Grizzzzzt!" Arcane sparks flew forth from the wand impacting the night dagger to send him crashing into another of his companion.
Rifanus ducked a head swipe of a long sword and lunged for the bar. He was on it quick; from his side he withdrew his hand axes and chopped vertically as he ran across the counter. A man cried, falling and holding to his torn face. The man crashed to the floor, splintering the ground with a crack.
The Night Daggers threw themselves at the duo. Men with gleaming daggers, bent on stealing the lives of the two friends. Ren, leapt for the table, as he barely missed getting hit with a short swords. The nimble short rouge landed in a crouch as another killer came forth.
Ren, was quick and his hand found the nearest mug of ale. He flicked the wooden cup that rebounded across the man head. The killer cursed and swung his short sword a split second where Ren had been. His eyes widened, as the rouge lifted off the table, and somersaulted over the surprised killers.
Ren instincts came swiftly, as he withdrew his other weapon. The keen long sword slid out of the scabbard and the air about Ren cooled. The hired killer turned about just in time to feel the ice-bladed long sword rip across his chest and freezes his blood. The Night Dagger never had time to think.
"Done with mine! You're to slow Rifanus" Ren Pyro grinned and blew a lock of his hair from his eye. He winced when he saw Rifanus's axe cleave the night dagger's arm from shoulder to chest. Rifanus wiped his face of the blood.
"Done with mine. Not as spry in my old age" He smiled; it was like old times indeed. The two surveyed the destruction to the inn. There was nothing much left of the former place. Tables and chairs were split and broken. Bar stool strewn about the area.
Ren and Rifanus smiled as they headed to the door. Both didn't see the door bubble, nor the wisp of flame begin to slowly rise from the entrance.
By the time the two noticed it was two late.
The door exploded.
Wood shards flew through the air knifing the companions in every direction. The blast sent Rifanus against the bar stand, in a crush. Ren Pyro instincts came alive, and he rolled with the explosion that sent him somersaulting over a table. A he yelled in pain as a shard of wood tore through his arm.
Rifanus bleeding, from a head cut, opened his eyes to gaze upon the shattered portal, the new danger that had arisen.
The woman seethed with wave of heat that shimmered about her. She wore a long green cloak that writhed about as if it was alive. A leather vest jerkin covered her white silk shirt. She wore fine riding leathers, and her slender legs were adorned by knee high riding boots. About her waist lay several daggers, all, and at her hip a fine Florian long sword.
Ren Pryo groaned as he stood up and pulled the shard from his arm. It would be useless for a couple of weeks he knew. Spell casting would be almost useless. The woman walked into the burning entrance. The companions took quick note that everything she touched turned to fire.
Ren face turned pale. Finally he saw death before him. All hopes of possible escape seemed lost. There before him stood the Arelith: the elven hand of death; Morick's lead assassin. She had never failed to fulfill a job, and the great guild leader only set her on the best missions.
He could see her smooth elven face, they never showed emotion. She was cold, stone like in her way. She had no qualms about killing; in fact Ren often believed she had been created for just that occupation. A construct bent on only one thing; killing.
The Arelith wasted no time, not a word. In a blur of fluid motion her hand flew to the daggers and the steeled weapons took flight. They burned the air as they igniting in fire. Ren's mind shut down and his instincts took over he cut left and dived as the first dagger lodged into the table.
Rifanus saw his death before him and in a blur of speed his hands came up and his mouth exploded into arcane might.
" Shielando eractuc" The spell shield shimmed into play, in a blue white nimbus. The fiery weapon sank into the energy but stopped short of the mark;: Rifanus's heart.
The Arelith's eye gleamed. No emotion, simply pure calculation. She sprinted quickly across, daggers ready to engage the short elven spell blade. Pyro was there, he leapt out, foot first and connected to her side, and sent the woman skidding away from the blow. The Arelith never slowed, she took the hit, cool and calm, and struck out with her open palm. The strike lifted Ren right off his feet.
Ren spiraled back and hissed; as he saw two daggers cut right-up, and the other left-low. The blades missed as a gust of wind, swept through, and wrenched both the Arelith and the thief apart.
Rifanus, wind spell slammed the elf assassin against the wall. He pushed harder against her, pinning the woman with a growl.
The Arelith eyes opened, and all about Rifanus the floor erupted in gout of flame. Ren screamed in horror. She had instantaneous combusted the air about his friend. The Arelith fell to the ground as the air snuffed out. Flames now tore through the inn, slowly devouring the place.
Ren gritted his teeth. He had seen too much, and lived to well, to leave the world he loved so much. He barely weaved out of the way as the Arelith brought down her elven long sword minutes where he had once stood. Ren rolled to his knees. He his hand grabbed the wand in his pouch.
The Arelith came in; her movement grace full, deadly and final.
Rifanus smiled and he leveled the wand at her.
The Aerilth's eyes widened. The cold world she inhabited shattered, and a scream roared from her like the fires of her soul.
For the first time Ren saw fear, and hatred etched on her face, for he first time he noted the chance of death.
"Grzzitt!" he cried, as the missiles of arcane might sped through the air, erupting in a searing conflagration of power. The Arelith screamed in pain as the magical bolts sizzled at her skin, tearing at her cold heart.
Ren poured it on, and several more bolts shattered her body and launched her into the inn wall. The timber cracked from the blow and the Arelith fell to one knee.
Ren was amazed at the woman's strength. She bled form every pore, and he could see the flesh of her chest open, and rib cage and lung exposed. He could hear the air wheeze through the burnt black skin of her lungs.
Ren stepped forward and leveled the wand of magic at her. It was then Ren realized that this game would never be truly over with Morick unless one of them was dead before the other. Morick had sent his top assassin after him. He would send other.
The Arelith eyes, locked on Ren, and she smiled a blood filled grin.
For the first time he saw her lips move and he knew fear in his heart.
"Little shit, your life is mine. Die!"
Her eyes opened.
"You first!" Ren lowered the wand, and the last bolt of the wand of magic missile took the Arelith full in the face, and out through the inn wall, bring it down. It had been weakened by the fire as had the entire inn.
Ren never felt the hands of Rifanus grab him,
Ren never felt the last surge of heat as the Aerlith's last actions was to ignite the very alcohol of the bar.
The inn exploded!
The air sizzled, Ren screamed as the eruptions tore towards the thief and his companion.
Rifanus had acted fast and had ignited the scroll of teleportation, just in time as the wave of fire bared upon them. With a pop the inn was gone as was the heat.
Ren sighed as he fell to the ground. He looked up from the ground and surveyed his surroundings. His eyes widened when he saw that the inn was gone as was Castillion. The city was far from, where he and Rifanus had teleported to. His gaze fell upon Rifanus, who lay there, unconscious, but breathing.
Ren guessed the explosion had caught him right before they entered the portal. He noted he was still breathing. His eye once again fell to the out cropping of trees, and Ren knew he was home. There before him stood the outer reaches of Floral'lanthus the borders of the elf realm. Just as he was about to gather himself up, he noticed the smoke, not just one column, but several. Ren sighed, out of the frying pan into the fire.
Ren Pyro then knew this adventure was just beginning.
To be continued in Hunted Are the the Hunters